


The Jeffersons

by bluebladenova



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Thomas, Modern Era, The Reynolds Pamphlet, Thomas is sad, Why Thomas Hates Alexander, martha dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebladenova/pseuds/bluebladenova
Summary: Historically, when Thomas Jefferson's wife died, Thomas was inconsolable. He fainted, then stayed shut away in his room for three weeks. I'm what the kids call an "emotional masochist with a kink for character depth", so I wrote this.





	The Jeffersons

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note on Sally's character: Historically, she was a mixed-race slave, owned by Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson is believed to be the father of her five children, and their relationship was likely non-consensual on Sally's part. However, I wasn't sure how to work that into a modern AU, so her role in the story will not match up with historic realities, much like the rest of this work.   
> Anyways, have fun reading this while I attempt to rip your heart out with my writing.

  
_“Martha, please, hold on a little longer. The doctor is coming soon, Martha, please...”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Shhh, my love. Stop your tears. It’s time. I’m in so much pain, my Thomas.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“M-Martha, please... Martha, I love you so much, please don’t go!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I love you, my Thomas.”_ _  
_  
•••  
  
Thomas stared at his reflection in the mirrored panels in the elevator. His eyes dragged slowly over his gray suit, his knuckles clenched over his briefcase handle, his baggy, bloodshot, dead-looking eyes. Martha’s funeral was two weeks ago. Washington was kind enough to give him extended leave and his cases had been handled by Burr, Madison, and Hamilton.   
  
He was starting over at work with a clean plate. No current cases, no wife, and no patience. Work was the last place he wanted to be. But where he wanted to be, he could never go again.   
  
The doors slid open on his floor. He heard the hush fall over the halls as he stepped onto the carpet. He ignored the stares of the receptionist and the drone-like interns. He felt like every step to his office added weights to his heart.   
He never used to dread work this much.   
He always used to have his wife by his side; to rant to about Hamilton, to cook for, to cuddle on the couch in front of the TV, to shower with and have playful tickle fights, to read next to in bed, to hold as they dreamed.   
  
God, now what’s he supposed to do?   
  
The slamming of his office door snapped him out of his reverie. He glanced at it for a moment as he walked to his desk. He didn’t mean to slam it. Did he slam it? Was it just loud to him? Did it close normally after all? He didn’t even remember opening it.   
  
He sat down in his leather swivel chair and just stared at his empty desk. As his eyes sluggishly ran over the wood, he noticed the picture to his right. Him and Martha, on their wedding day. He picked it up and held it with both hands, close to his stomach so he wouldn’t risk dropping it. Martha looked so radiant. The white dress, the daffodil bouquet. The look of sheer joy in her eyes and her smile.   
  
•••   
  
_‘Here comes the Bride’ suddenly sprang from the organ’s keys. Thomas’ head snapped up and jaw snapped down. His bride, his truest love was just yards away in her wedding dress, grinning at him as she clutched her father’s arm._ _  
_ _  
_ _Madison nudged him. “Thomas, you’ll catch flies,” he whispered. Thomas quickly shut his jaw and smiled at Martha. “Hurry up!” He mouthed playfully at her. She and a few of the guests laughed out loud. She indulged him and quickened her pace just a little. They reached him, and her father passed her to him. “Take care of her, you hear?” Her father sternly whispered. Without taking her eyes off his bride’s beautiful face, he nodded enthusiastically. “I always will. No matter what.”_ _  
_  
•••  
  
“Another promise broken,” he mumbled dryly to himself. _Some protector you are._ Suddenly aware of tears, he wiped his face with his hands and put the picture delicately back on his desk.    
  
He spent a while just staring at nothing. Just feeling his presence sitting in his chair. Just existing in this space, with his ring on the wrong hand, with half of him missing. Just sitting there, with TV static in his brain.   
  
A knock jolted him out of it. He cleared his throat, uttering his first words of the day. “Come in.”   
  
An intern, Washington’s, politely poked his head it. “Mr. Jefferson? Mr. Washington heard you were back. He’d like to see you now.”   
  
Jefferson didn’t quite understand what he had heard at first, his focus drifting back and forth. “Ah... yes. Alright. Tell Washington I’ll be there shortly.” The intern nodded and shut the door behind him.   
  
Jefferson stared at the edge of his desk.   
  
_Get up. You have to get up now._ _  
_ _..._ _  
_ _Get. Up. Now. Idiot._ _  
_ _..._ _  
_ _What, can’t use your legs? They’re right there. Make them move. Get up, now._ _  
_ _..._ _  
_ _Washington’s waiting. Get up, walk down the hall, take the elevator up two floors, go to his office. Just GO._ _  
_  
He managed to pick himself up and walk to his boss’ office. It was difficult, but he managed. Which was a step up from the past week where he just laid in bed and stared at his ceiling fan.  
  
He knocked on Washington’s door. Focus, he encouraged himself. You don’t want pity, so don’t give him a reason to pity you. Strictly business.   
  
“Come in!”  
  
He pushed open the older man’s door.   
  
“Ah, Mr. Jefferson.” Washington took off his reading glasses and put down the paper’s he’d been reading over. He folded his arms and studied Thomas, like a concerned father.   
  
“How have you been, Thomas?”   
  
A lump quickly formed in Jefferson’s throat. _Don’t cry. Don’t you do it._ _  
_ _  
_Thomas took a steadying breath and talked around the lump. “Fine, sir. Recently I’ve been doing better."  
  
Washington looked at him like he didn’t quite believe him. “Just fine?” He repeated gently. “Thomas, if you need more time off, I’ll happily give it to you. I don’t know if you remember when my Martha passed, I was away from work for a month, at least.”   
  
“Your wife’s name was Martha as well,” Thomas said quietly. “I’d forgotten. That was how we met...”  
  
•••   
  
_“Order for Martha!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Two hands reached for the same chocolatey drink. They touched and sprang back from each other._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh! I’m sorry!”_ _  
_ _“No, I am! Is this your drink?”_ _  
_ _“I’m not sure, I think it is...”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Order for Martha!” The barista slid another drink across the counter._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Ah, this one’s mine.”_ _  
_ _“No kidding? Your name’s Martha?”_ _  
_ _“Yes! Yours is too?”_ _  
_ _“Yes! Ha! I’ve never met anyone else with the same name as me before!”_ _  
_ _“Neither have I! It’s so-“_ _  
_ _“-old fashioned?”_ _  
_ _“Exactly!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _They laughed and wandered away from the line to their husbands, waiting patiently for them by the door._ _  
_ _  
_ _“George! You wouldn’t believe it, this young lady here is also named Martha!”_ _  
_ _George raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Is that so? Martha’s are rare these days.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Martha, this is my husband, George.” Martha offered her hand to shake. “Pleasure to meet you and your wife, George. I’m about to get married myself- to this handsome man here, actually.” Thomas slid around behind her and gently pressed his hands to her hips as she kissed his cheek._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Thomas,” he introduced himself, shaking Martha and George’s hands. “Darling, this exactly what I was talking about. You make friends everywhere you go,” he teased her. George and both Martha’s laughed heartily. “Can’t help it dear, it was like fate!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Unfortunately, fate has to wait,” George gently interjected after a quick glance at his watch. “I have an interview at work scheduled and must be off.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Thomas nodded. “Funny, I have an interview as well. Good luck with yours, sir,” he shook George’s hand. “And good luck with yours,” he returned. The wives shared phone numbers and the groups split._ _  
_ _  
_ _After a hurried fifteen minutes, Jefferson stepped into Washington’s office, straightening his tie._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Afternoon, sir. I’m Thomas Jefferson, your secretary said to just come right in.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Washington whirled around and stared at Thomas. Thomas stared back at Washington. Then they both burst into laughter. “Oh Lord!” Washington huffed, full of mirth. “Maybe it was fate after all.”_ _  
_ _  
_•••  
  
“Maybe it was fate after all,” Thomas echoed quietly.   
  
A heavy silence settled over the room like dust.   
  
“I don’t need more time off, sir,” Thomas finally said. “I just... need to get back to work. Trying to feel normal again.”   
  
Washington nodded. “Very well. Hamilton is waiting with some potential cases. He should be in his office still.”  
  
Thomas internally groaned. Maybe Hamilton will just be quiet for once.. “Yes sir. We’ll meet for our usual Tuesday briefing tomorrow.” He spun on his heel and walked out.   
  
He stared at his shoes until he walked down the hall to Hamilton’s office. Feeling dread sit in his stomach, he knocked on the door. “It’s open!” Alexander shouted from inside.   
  
He rotated the knob and half-stepped inside. Alexander looked up from his long, loose strands of hair and paused when he saw Jefferson. Thomas just stared back at him. He watched Hamilton take in his slightly-looser clothes, the dark bags under his eyes, the unshaved face. And, thank the lord, he said nothing.   
  
“Here, Jefferson.” He thrust out a case file for him to take. “This one seems your speed.”   
  
“Thomas.”   
  
“What’s that?”   
  
“... My name is Thomas. Please just... use my name.”   
  
Alexander stared for a moment and then gave a quick nod. “Thomas. The case in your hand is a sexual harassment case at a corporate office downtown and the second is wrongful termination in Wesley Hills. You can choose one, do both, or turn down both. Just let me know what you decide.”   
  
Thomas took the files and walked out without a word, as if sleepwalking. He even quietly shut the door behind him. Normally he would leave it wide open to irk Alexander.   
  
Alexander watched him leave with a heavy weight of pity sagging his shoulders down. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if he lost Eliza.   
  
Thomas went back to his office in silence. He sat down at his desk and went over the files, skimming them, then examining them, then reading them out loud... and yet he absorbed none of the information.   
  
_So the boss, Mr... Mr... Mr. Zenowitz? Zee-no-witz? Is accused of harassing Mrs. Deloson- no, Deloson is the witness? Oh I see, Deloson is the former secretary who is sharing her story to back up the victim, Ms. Quinto. Or is Ms. Quinto the former secretary? Who is the plaintiff???_ _  
_  
He snapped the folder shut and massaged his temples. He glanced at the clock. He had gotten there at eight, it must be almost two...  
It was nine-thirty.   
  
He groaned audibly. “Jesus...”   
  
The rest of the day dragged on painfully slowly. He ate lunch in his office instead of the dining room he typically reigned over. Instead of working late, he left the office at exactly five o’clock and went home.   
  
•••   
  
_“Thomas! I don’t have your long legs, you know!”_ _  
_ _He chuckled and slowed down for his wife. “Five feet, four inches of sass,” he teased her and clasped her hand and his. She pouted at him. “And you’re six feet, two inches of smug bastard!” She whined. He just laughed and kissed her forehead, which made her melt instantly and lean into his arm as they walked._ _  
_ _  
_ _“But I’m your smug bastard,” he reminded her. She smiled and kissed his knuckles. “Yes. My smug bastard. My Thomas.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The walked around the property that Thomas had inherited from his father, Monticello. “I knew you would like it here,” he commented. “Plenty of flowers for you to coo over.” She smacked him playfully. “How can I focus on flowers when I have a darling husband with an ego to boost?” She teased him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What ego?” He protested, knowing full well he had the biggest ego in the state. “I may be a triple-Ivy League alumni, the owner of several law doctorates, the best conviction rate of any prosecutor in the State of New York AND Virginia, AND be amazing in bed-“_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m not sure about that last bit,” his wife interrupted with a teasing grin._ _  
_ _  
_ _“-but that doesn’t mean I have an ego!” He finished with an ironic smile._ _  
_ _  
_ _She laughed and put her head on his chest. “You forgot your good soul. And your passion. And your sense of humor. And your incredible, huge, throbbing... heart.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“That’s not what you were gonna say.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh? What was I gonna say?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Come back to the main house and I’ll show you.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“So I can see your heart better?” She taunted. He abruptly swept her off her feet and carried her like a bride, only to begin tickling her. “No! Stop!” She squealed, helpless to her giggles. “Stop! Thomas! I surrender! I give up!” She whined through her laughter. “Tommy! No!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He finally gave her mercy and set her down on her feet. She smiled coyly and beckoned for him to come closer, as if to whisper something in his ear. She smirked a little and instead grabbed his jaw with one hand a pressed a fiery kiss to his lips. He moaned softly in surprise and kissed back, hands sliding down to her waist and pulling her closer._ _  
_ _  
_ _“We don’t need the main house when there’s a clean gazebo right over there,” she whispered in his ear as her hand gripped the hair near his scalp._ _  
_ _  
_ _“My fiancée makes an excellent point,” he purred. He lifted her and carried her to the gazebo she had pointed out._ _  
_  
•••  
  
He walked down that same path mindlessly. Nothing seemed as colorful or as beautiful as it had before. Edges of objects had lost their sharpness.   
If he blinked, they came back into focus. But he allowed himself to zone out often.   
  
Unthinkingly, he reached out to his left to grasp his wife’s hand. When he realized there was no hand to hold, he sat heavily on the grass and began to sob. He felt like that was all he had been doing, crying. And yet he couldn’t stop himself. He sat in the grass and cried and cried for hours until he had tired himself out and stayed in the grass, shaking a little with tears still falling.   
  
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Sir?” A quiet voice whispered to him. Thomas looked over his shoulder and wiped his face. “Sally,” he murmured, voice thick with tears. Sally, his maid and most loyal of his staff gently squeezed his shoulder. “Up now, Mr. Jefferson. I have saved you a plate.”   
  
“I can’t eat, Sally...”   
  
“You can and you must,” she said sharply. “You will eat and you will bathe tonight and you will take care of yourself. Or I will call Mr. Washington and he will take care of you.”  
  
Thomas sat up unsteadily and shook his head. “Unnecessary, Sally... thank you. You have always been a faithful and loving employee.” Sally smiled and offered her arm.   
  
Jefferson hesitated for a moment, then allowed her to help him up. They walked together to the big house and Sally fixed his plate, sitting it in front of him. Sally cajoled him into finishing the entire plate, then sent him to bathe, like he was a little boy. He didn’t protest the treatment. He felt like a little boy. Scared and alone without a companion.   
  
He went upstairs to his bathroom and stared at the shower. Monticello was a certifiable mansion and he was ecstatic to discover that the master bathroom had an enormous, four-foot deep, twelve-foot across luxurious bath and a gorgeously-tiled shower beside it. He personally had expanded the shower so he and Martha would have more room to “conserve water” and shower together.   
  
His father hid the bathroom from him so he wouldn’t have to share. His father was like that about a lot of things.   
  
He stared at the huge, roomy shower for a long time before shaking his head and leaving the bathroom.   
  
_One thing at a time. Eating a full meal was good. That was a good step. Try showering tomorrow morning._  
  
Even his thoughts sounded like Martha.   
He stripped and put on pajamas.   
_There ya go, Tommy! He praised himself. Look at you, not sleeping in your clothes. Keep it up, kiddo. How about sleeping? Can we try sleeping?_   
  
He crawled into bed and covered himself up with the comforter. He then proceeded to stare, wide-eyed, at the ceiling. He stared like that for a long time. His will finally broke and he checked his phone.   
  
He just spent two hours staring blankly at a fucking white ceiling.   
  
_Alright. This isn’t working. Is it the temperature? ... no. Is it the position? ... nope. Is it Martha’s creepy picture of Jesus? ... no, Jesus actually isn’t bothering me right now. Hm_.   
  
He moved down the hall to a guest room and plopped under the covers. He immediately felt his eyes get heavy.   
_I guess it’s the room._ He shut his eyes and slipped into nightmares.   
  
•••   
  
_“Thomas, move, let the doctor do his work.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“James, get off! MARTHA! MARTHA!” He felt his legs kick, but couldn’t summon strength. His legs swung uselessly in the air as James and his sister hauled him out of the room but his upper arms. The door to the room slammed shut, and the hallway extended unnaturally, far beyond his reach. He struggled hard, but had the strength of a rag doll._ _  
_ _  
_ _Blackness. Then, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jefferson. There was nothing I could do. Your wife passed away at 2:59 a.m. of tuberculosis. You have my deepest and sincerest condolences.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Thomas screamed, but he had no voice._ _  
_  
•••  
  
He woke up in a cold sweat, tears flooding his eyes and his face. The room was suddenly flooded with light and someone embraced him. “Martha!” He sobbed, burying his face against the person holding him.   
  
“No, sir,” Sally’s strong, sleepy voice answered him. “Just Sally. Martha’s left us, Mr. Jefferson. Take a breath, sir, you’re a wreck.”   
  
Thomas hid his face by hanging his head and letting his hair curtain him. Sally released him, but stayed close, standing at the side of the bed. He wiped his face and took shuddering, hiccuping breaths. “Sally,” he murmured thickly. “You must think I’m so weak.”   
  
“No, Mr. Jefferson,” she assured him. “A weak man would have ordered me out and reprimanded me for having concern. A weak man would be hiding himself, like feelings are shameful. You, Mr. Jefferson, are a very strong man.”   
  
Thomas picked his head back up and swallowed. “Sally, could you get me some- oh.” Sally presented the ice water he was about to request. “Sally, you think of everything.” She allowed herself a small smile. “I’ve known you since you were a child, Thomas. I used to sing you to sleep. I know you well enough by now.”   
Sally’s mother was employed by Thomas’ father. When she was 15, she began to work for the Jeffersons as well because there were expecting a baby. Sally was 15 years Thomas’ senior and was now 53.   
  
Thomas chuckled dryly and chugged the water down. “Thank you, Sally. ... what time is it?”   
Sally checked her watch. “Nearly three a.m., sir.” He nodded a little. “In that case, I’m going back to sleep. Thank you, Sally.” She smiled and returned to her own room.   
  
Thomas slept through the rest of the night. When he woke up the next morning, he was drenched in stinky, unpleasant sweat and the excess oils in his hair made it limp and sad-looking.   
  
_Okay_ , he said with new resolve. _Shower this morning. Go do it_. To his surprise, he did do it. He showered, made himself smell pretty, and fixed up his hair. He looked at himself and his growing beard, which he hadn’t shaved in almost a month. He hadn’t shaved since Martha got sick. He pursed his lips and combed his fingers through the hair.   
  
_I don’t have the energy to shave today. Focus on eating breakfast and going to work and we’ll figure out the beard situation later tonight_.   
  
He walked into the kitchen and noticed the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. To his surprise, it made his stomach churn unpleasantly. “Sally,” he called. “Never mind on breakfast. I’m not quite up to it.” The activity in the kitchen stopped. “No problem, Mr. Jefferson,” she replied through the door. “I’ll keep it and you can have breakfast for dinner tonight.”   
  
He nodded to himself. “See you later, Sally.”  
“Have a good day, sir.”   
“You know you don’t have to call me that.”   
“I do what I want. You have a good day, sir.”   
He chuckled and left for work.   
•••   
  
Work was a little easier. He could, at least, understand the case and focus a little easier. The morning passed quickly and his heart was lighter than it had been in a month. His coworkers were kind enough to not mention Martha or their own wives. The ring on his right hand still felt wrong.   
  
Months went by. Jefferson tried cases and won most of them. He eventually shaved his face again and started reading in his spare time again instead of just sleeping. He ate three meals a day again and bathed regularly. But he never returned to the bedroom. He and Sally moved his belongings into a guest room and he used the hall bath to bathe.   
  
Then, one morning, Sally walked in with a displeased expression. Jefferson noticed and stopped eating his eggs. “Sally? What’s wrong?”   
She plopped the morning newspaper on the table. “Your firm made the paper, sir.” He raised an eyebrow. “So? We make the paper often enough...” he trailed off as he read the headline.   
  
**_ALEXANDER HAMILTON’S TORRID AFFAIR! FAMED LAWYER ADMITS TO INFIDELITY IN THE MOST-VIEWED BLOG POST IN HISTORY!_** ** _  
_**  
Jefferson’s jaw dropped. “... what the fuck was he thinking?!” He growled.  
“From what you’ve told me,” Sally responded dryly, “Mr. Hamilton doesn’t think.”   
  
“Ha!” Jefferson scowled and snapped his briefcase shut, not bothering to finish breakfast. “Excuse me, Sally, I need to shout at Mr. Hamilton.”   
  
“Glad to see you’re back to your old self,” she muttered.   
  
“What was that?”   
  
“I said good luck, sir.”   
  
“Thank you.” He rushed out.   
  
He drove to the firm in a rage that he couldn’t quite explain. He just knew he was furious. He knew it was dangerous to storm into work angry, but he hadn’t felt his heart pump this hard or his blood rush so fast since Martha died. He hadn’t felt so alive in months.   
  
He punched the elevator button, slammed Alexander’s door against the wall as he opened it. Alexander looked up at him miserably, with bloodshot eyes and a half-empty bottle- not a glass, a bottle- of scotch inches from his right hand. They stared at each other, Jefferson’s chest heaving.   
  
“What?” Alexander finally croaked.   
  
There was a beat of silence.   
  
“YOU MISERABLE, STUPID, UNGRATEFUL BASTARD!” Thomas finally roared at him, slamming the door shut behind him and striding to the desk at a pace that frightened both him and Alexander, who had jumped and looked for an escape with wide, terrified eyes.   
“INSUFFERABLE, WEAK, ARROGANT, SELFISH WHORESON!” Jefferson, in a full-blown rage, backhanded the alcohol off the desk, shoved papers and folders to the floor while they scattered, slammed his fists on the desk with ferocity that no one had ever seen from the southerner.   
  
Thomas seized Alexander’s collar and lifted him, pulling him close, just to be sure that Alexander got the message.   
“I would give ANYTHING,” he shook Alexander like a rag doll as Alexander let out a frightened sob, “anything! To have what you have. Anything to have my wife, to have children, a family! And you threw yours away for what? A cheap skirt with long eyelashes. Despicable.”   
Thomas threw Alexander back in his chair with disgust, turned on his heel, and slammed the door on his way out. Alexander shook like a leaf in his chair, having never been so terrified and thoroughly chastised in his life.   
  
Thomas shook too, not quite believing what he had just done. A stomach-churning mix of relief, fear, and anxiety swept through him and shook every one of his nerves. He ignored the staring, scared interns and left the office building to go back home. He figured he couldn’t exactly go on with his day after that.   
  
He pondered what to do as he drove. Then he decided to just go home and go back to sleep. He was exhausted.   
  
He walked in wearily. Sally had the feeling that he didn’t want to be bothered and stayed quiet. He went up to his guest room, crawled between the covers and curled up in the fetal position. He sobbed like he hadn’t sobbed in months, shoulders shaking, stomach hurting, tears soaking the pillows. He didn’t even know why he was crying, exactly. He suspected it was pent-up grief, anger at Hamilton for taking his wife for granted, and fear of losing his job after what had just happened. Hamilton would no doubt tell Washington what happened.   
  
He cried until he fell asleep. He slept soundly, with no interruptions, until Sally poked her head in. She came over and gently shook him.  “Sir,” she roused him gently. “Mr. Jefferson. You have a visitor.”   
  
He groaned and buried his head in his pillow. “What visitor?” He muttered, tired and irritated.   
  
“It’s Mr. Washington, sir.”   
  
He hesitated for a moment. “Shit... okay. Make him some coffee, he takes it black. I’ll fix myself up and be down in a few minutes.”   
  
“Right away, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might write another chapter of this, but I'm not sure. It depends on how many comments/kudos I get. Anyways if you like that, I have two other Hamilton works on my profile, including a narrative for the song First Burn. Thanks for reading!


End file.
